Coming up easy
by kouw
Summary: Elsie and Charles were, then weren't, but will always be: two people in love.


**A/N:**This is a story I wrote as an entry for my nanowrimo. Unlike previous years, I am not doing an original work, but fanfics and diary entries from around 1667 words each day. This is the first story that didn't suck like whoa and I wanted to share it, because you know – we all need more Chelsie in our lives. Right? Right. (thank you to everyone who has already commented on Tumblr!) Reviews, as always, terribly appreciated!

* * *

"Come on..." His voice was so soft she felt it caressed her skin rather than hearing it. She cuddled up even closer. With her eyes still closed she reached up for him, her lips finding his. Soft and plush and warm. Undemanding but willing. Sleepy but alert.

They hadn't bothered to close the curtains.

"Look." He sounded more urgent now and she reluctantly opened her eyes, expecting the black of the night. Instead she found the room bathing in a deep blue and as she scrambled up a little, the sheet falling down to her waist, she could see the dawn peering in from the window.

The darkest blue to grey to a mix of yellow, orange and pink. He took her hand in his. "We talked all evening and now we've shared the dawn." He said. It sounded profound. Like a promise.

She pushed the covers off, got out of bed and picked up the hairpins that were on his nightstand. His shaving mirror was small, but she was practiced. The room was chilly, she knew he could see it on her naked body. Goosebumps, a shiver, the stiffening of her nipples. She turned to see him staring at her. "But you are beautiful..." He murmured. She smiled at him. She knew she wasn't bad looking. Of average height but curvy with strong arms and legs from being in service year after year. She knew he loved her hair, long and wavey, dark with auburn streaks, only to be seen when not done up. He was the only one who had seen in down since she had left home.

She picked up her chemise and underwear, put them on. There was water in the basin, she splashed some on her face, trying to truly wake up, unable to shake the feeling of too little sleep, caused by talk, touch and coming together so closely they became one. Her muscles ached, a combination of cleaning every nook and cranny of the house during the day and wrapping her legs around his waist, arching her back, clawing at his shoulder blades at night.

"Get dressed... We can go for a walk before we have to start work." She wrapped her corset around her waist, closing the busk with ease. She reached for her stockings, the garters scattered on the floor. As she slid them up her legs, he groaned. "What are you doing to me?"

Her dress was on the chair, but quickly on her body. She slipped her feet in her shoes. There was no trace left of the wanton woman she was during her nights with him. She was prim and proper again, the love bites all below the collar of her dress, the smell of him, of them together hidden under layers of linen and cotton. "I'll need a clean apron. Will I see you at the backdoor in five minutes?" Her question was more a demand and he smiled at her, letting her go after grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her into the bed, kissing her deep and longingly.

Of course he was there. He took her wrap and held it up for her, enveloping her in the warm wool. She put her hand in the crook of his elbow and they took a turn in the garden. Flowers were waking up, kissed by the feeble rays of sun falling from the sky. She kissed him, again and again, in the secluded area by the hothouses.

"We've got to go in... There's work to do." She didn't want to go, she wanted to stay with him, to have his hand on her hip, to have him guide himself inside her, to move in perfect sync until they both cried out, stifled by kisses or their hands pressed against their lips. She wanted to stay with him, drink tea and talk and talk of all the things around them, from the monarchy and changes being made by the new Lady Grantham to the harvest and the new cook's delicious jam roly poly. But she had her job to do and so did he.

Valet to his lordship was a wonderful place and she was headhousemaid, girls would sell their grandmothers to get a job like that. There were times she felt guilty, deceiving the family, their superiors, but her love for him was so strong, so the focus point of her life right now, she couldn't tear herself away from it. She knew he felt much the same about her. He was not the kind of man to lead anyone on, to make promises he couldn't keep. He was about details and tradition, about doing things exactly right. He had high standards, so high sometimes she worried he would not even reach them himself.

"Lets go then." He took her hand in his, they strolled towards the house again and he only let her go when he hears someone cough. The loss of the warmth was more than she cared to admit.

In the Servants' Hall they had breakfast, he was called up to dress Lord Grantham. She ate her toast and started her duties. They didn't see each other until the afternoon. He was looking tired, didn't answer her questions. Deep in thought a wrinkle appeared on his brow and she wondered how they would multiply over the years. She wondered if one day he would perhaps ask her to be his wife and they would leave service. They might start a shop, or perhaps he would work in an office. He had a good mind, perhaps not the quickest in wit, but strong and focused and incredibly good with numbers.

They might live in a cottage, or in rooms over their shop. Perhaps they might even... She halted herself. If she thought that out, it would be so hard to live with the reality of being in service the rest of her life, because while they were so attached to each other, so in love, life as a civilian was frightening. Even if she trusted him with her life, if she would link her life to his in a heartbeat, she did not know if he wanted what she wanted. He was awfully attached to the family as well.

As she contemplated all this, her train of thought was interrupted by his booming voice.

"His Lordship has offered me the position of butler..."

His announcement knocked the wind out of her.

"Has he?"

"Yes... Mr Jarvis is retiring after the Season..."

The Season. When he left for weeks and she only heard from him through letters. When she was so lonely, she thought it ate away at her from the inside out. Where she gave herself completely before he went away, uncaring what might happen and she welcomed him home with equal abandon.

He was always careful though.

"Butler..." She whispered.

"Yes..." They sat together, unspeaking for a long while. She knew he would take the offer. It was an amazing place for such a young man. He was in his mid-thirties, reaching the highest place there was in the house was an honour. He would be foolish not to take it.

"Well.." She coughed. Cleared her throat. Tried to keep from crying. "Congratulations, Mr Carson." She stuck out her hand to shake his. He held her small hand between both his larger ones.

"You know I have to take it." He spoke gently.

"Of course you have to take it." She got up. "Excuse me."

She left, her back straight, as if nothing had occurred. But when she was out of his sight, she ran up to the attics, to her own room and threw herself on the bed and cried. Bitter tears, burning her eyes, staining her pillow case.

Days went by, he went off to the Season, she loved him with an urgency she didn't know from herself. Perhaps it was because she felt it might be the last time. She ground herself against him, held on so tightly, they hardly moved at times. She cried when he made her come.

His return came with a change in hierarchy. He wore different clothes, stood straighter, worked harder, longer, more. He didn't push her away, he simply didn't have much time. He was the first to start in the mornings and the last to go up at night. His smiles for her were warm, he sometimes found time for a bit of a kiss and a cuddle, but he didn't take her back to his room, didn't take the pins from her hair. Didn't carefully open the busk of her corset anymore.

Months whiled away, she worked hard, trying to forget. She watched younger maids and their followers, saw how they left to start a life outside the walls of Downton and she swept the rooms with more fervour. She made the beds, pulling corners so tightly, it was near impossible to undo them again.

He suggests her to follow in the old Housekeeper's shoes and Lady Grantham agrees. They are on equal footing again. They start a routine of sitting side by side at breakfast. Thighs touching, pouring each other tea, buttering each other's toast. They discuss the affairs of the house, work together closely. In the evenings they share the leftover wine, a piece of cake that hasn't been eaten. They sit across from each other, all smiles and kind words. She closes the door between the corridors and puts her hand against the wall, knowing he is behind it, their rooms only separated by a wall.

"I'd like you closer." He suddenly says one evening.

"Closer?" She asks, her wine in hand. She has grown old, there are spots on her skin, which doesn't lie around her flesh as tight. She has been scared and a doctor has brought her relief. She teases him whenever she can, flirts openly with him. She has to grasp her life with both hands, has to be prepared for anything. She has saved up enough to leave service if she wants to. She takes risks, talks back, takes sides. She has opened her heart, it's been hurt, but at least it is alive and beating steadily.

"I let you go because of my ambition." He finds it hard to talk of feelings. Has become inflexible over time. She wonders if she had pushed harder, if she had taken matters in her own hands, he would have been so rigid too. She tells herself 'no'. She pretends that if she had kept on wrapping her legs around his waist, if she had kept arching her back so her breasts were pressed against his chest, if she had kept him close to her core, he would have been looser.

"You did. But it's been worth it." She knows being Housekeeper has had its rewards, but she also knows it's not enough. She looks back at her life and knows that the days they saw the sun come up were the best days of her life. Twenty-five years ago, she was happy and loved and was looking towards a very different future than the one she had. She's been respected and cared for, but she has missed the closeness he speaks of. Every single day.

"Has it?" There is sadness in his voice. She reaches over, places her hand over his. There are spots too, the veins lie high under it.

"We have made choices and we cannot undo them."

They get up at the same time, she bumps her knee into the table, the glasses wobble and she lets a giggle escape. It sounds foreign in the pantry, but not unwelcome.

He opens his arms wide and she steps in, moulds into him, allows herself to be embraced, allows him to kiss her. Their kisses are chaste at first, but they increase in heat and need, his hands travel from her back to grab hold of her bottom, she leans in, her center crushing into his. Everything she has ever felt for the man, this good man, erupts from her. Her hands are on his cheeks, the stubble grazing her palms. A moan escapes her.

"Come on." He says and takes her hand. Together they leave the pantry, check the house, draw curtains, close up. They climb the stairs, still hand in hand. She follows him, leaves the door unlocked. His room hasn't changed. They don't close the curtains. Gently, so gently he starts undressing her. Her hands are steady as she pushes off his jacket, unbuttons his waistcoat and shirt. Soon her hands find his skin, soft and warm to her touch and a tear forms in her eyes, closed still as they continue to kiss.

She wakes up from the feeling of someone touching her cheek. She cuddles up close. "Look." He says and she pushes herself up on an elbow, the sheet falling down to her waist. The sun is coming up.


End file.
